Don't you love it when you've got a long drive and something unexpected happens that makes it an adventure? Me, too. Something unexpected happened on my trip down south last week. I would have gone the old dreary way, down 5, over 156 to 101 south and so-on, but my son gave me his super secret shortcut past all the state prisons and mental hospitals. Let's assume he wasn't dropping a hint.
So I was busy counting off the miles lest I miss a turn on this two lane road, and the hills just exploded in glorious, rich and green new grass from the rain. I could hardly keep my eyes on the road they were so beautiful, each turn better than the last as it slowly wound itself toward the coast. There were houses dotted here and there with white picket fences owned by whom I thought must be the luckiest of people. Sheep and horses grazed with their babies standing nearby. I'll tell you, California in the spring is like nowhere else on earth.
As if that weren't enough, around one curve wildflowers all of a sudden burst into bloom, first in small clusters and then in long wide blotches on the green, green hills. It was a Van Gogh painting only with bright sun against a robin's egg blue sky. The slowdowns for road work were actually a welcome relief to really take it in. There were big purple flowers on stalks standing tall above thousands of mustard plants and little white clustered flowers that smiled and rocked in the breeze. And in the distance I spied something day-glo orange. Could it really be ... California Poppys?
It was: thousands and millions of them, growing wild and free up and over hills and down the other side all the way to the road. I haven't seen poppys in this concentration in 30 years. There was no choice but to stop, hop out and run to the fence, bend down and carress them and soak in the beauty, warmth and hopefulness of the moment. Passerbys waved and smiled and honked: I'm telling you, it was a breathtaking sight!
So I was busy counting off the miles lest I miss a turn on this two lane road, and the hills just exploded in glorious, rich and green new grass from the rain. I could hardly keep my eyes on the road they were so beautiful, each turn better than the last as it slowly wound itself toward the coast. There were houses dotted here and there with white picket fences owned by whom I thought must be the luckiest of people. Sheep and horses grazed with their babies standing nearby. I'll tell you, California in the spring is like nowhere else on earth.
As if that weren't enough, around one curve wildflowers all of a sudden burst into bloom, first in small clusters and then in long wide blotches on the green, green hills. It was a Van Gogh painting only with bright sun against a robin's egg blue sky. The slowdowns for road work were actually a welcome relief to really take it in. There were big purple flowers on stalks standing tall above thousands of mustard plants and little white clustered flowers that smiled and rocked in the breeze. And in the distance I spied something day-glo orange. Could it really be ... California Poppys?
It was: thousands and millions of them, growing wild and free up and over hills and down the other side all the way to the road. I haven't seen poppys in this concentration in 30 years. There was no choice but to stop, hop out and run to the fence, bend down and carress them and soak in the beauty, warmth and hopefulness of the moment. Passerbys waved and smiled and honked: I'm telling you, it was a breathtaking sight!
Poppys have led the charge: it's officially Spring!
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